So much to take in! Let it not be said that January of this year is a slow month for me. These days are setting records. Bitter cold temperatures (back home), wet skies (south of France), and chaos in my head. January 21st will be a day I wont quickly forget. In the thick of travel, running on absolutely no sleep, jumping from one country to the next, flying great distances and ending up in the wrong place, and in all this, I am putting in place life changes. I do this in moments when I have access to my phone or laptop -- while stuck in traffic in taxis (with a grumbling driver once he discovers I am from the US), swaying on airport buses, and while waiting to disembark a stranded in Marseille airplane, with email systems crashing, cancellations mounting, documents needing to be signed floating in the Internet universe and, like my plane, not landing where they should -- oh, I'd say I had my fill of craziness yesterday.
But I got through it. At dizzying speeds, I got through it and kept all details straight in my head. So no, I'm not fading yet at 72.
And now here I am, waking up to a not too awful looking morning in Marseille. (It's still raining in Nice.)
Marseille. It was a city I'd considered for many repeat trips a few years back. I liked it, I wanted to come back more than once. To a small bed and breakfast, where I made friends with the owner, Odile. (Her b&b has been closed for a while now. Who knows if she is still even there -- she was older.) The tumult of Marseille appealed to me. And then, in what seems to be my style in life, I cut the cord and came back no more. At some point, possibly coinciding with the time I moved to the farmhouse (so maybe a dozen plus years ago), visiting big cities was no longer very attractive to me. I missed nature. The quiet. [Paris is the one place I never abandoned, possibly because I stay in a hotel that is quiet (Le Baume) and it is next to nature (Jardin Luxembourg).]
And yet, here I am, in Marseille again.
Breakfast at the Sofitel is fine. Buffet style, with standout croissants. Fruits, yogurt, an egg, some cake piece. With milky coffee.
Maybe I should hit pause for a while (in my rapid fire decision making) and think about what I just put in place. I was telling one of my daughters a few days back that I've made most major decisions in my life very quickly and though some of them had consequences that were profound, and not always without issue, I've regretted none of them. It all worked out somehow. I've said this before -- I was born under an unlucky star (very sick, living away from my parents, in rather primitive conditions), but very quickly my luck changed. Medical emergencies never put me into a grave, for one thing! I was loved and loved right back. I saw places, did things and stayed afloat financially, despite turbulence and work crises. My grandma, my young families, my friends -- they have been my rocks, my anchors, joined by Ed. So on balance my speedy twists and turns served me well.
Henry was a speedy choice. I fell in love with my daughter's rescue dog and decided I could help a rescue as well.
Henry turned out to be not an easy dog. In the important domains, he is magnificent. He loves his people deeply and completely. ("His people" are those whom he has sniffed out approvingly.) His eyes are on me, his heart is big and only growing bigger. His loyalty is 110%. He is smart, routine driven, lap dog affectionate.
But, the word they use to describe many rescues -- "shy" -- isn't what you'd think it is. When you meet a shy person, you think -- they aren't effusive, loud. They don't seek out others. Rather, they need to be sought out. A shy rescue on the other hand, one who isn't comfortable with people he doesn't know, is a dog that has been traumatized and strangers scare him. Strangers scare Henry and the closer he gets to me, the more strangers scare him. His behavior at the Edge has not only not improved, it's gotten worse. The professional advice has been to remove the source of fear -- in his case, elevators, empty hallways that suddenly have people popping out of their apartments, sometimes right outside my door. I cannot do that at the Edge. And when he barks and pulls hard to sniff out these folks, they retreat in terror. It's a vicious cycle that is reinforced each time the elevator opens and there are people on the other side of the door.
I dont want him (or me!) to have to deal with this. Henry needs to be elsewhere. His best place to learn to relax is not in an apartment building, with long corridors, opening doors, elevators.
In a couple of weeks, I'll be moving out. To a house. Not Steffi's House -- that one isn't available yet. But there is an empty house waiting for renters just a few steps down from it. Call it the Suelo House (because that's the name of the street it's on). I can have it until Steffi's becomes available this summer.
I arranged it all in transit yesterday -- a move-in date, a new lease, negotiated as to date and price, movers, help with packing, an ad to find subletters for the Edge (at a discount, so if you know anyone!) -- all of it.
There's more: I'm getting a second dog. Whereas the move will surely have the benefits I seek, this decision raises some concern among at least some of my beloveds. Even my vet speculated about this: might things get worse? Henry could get jealous. The next rescue can have unanticipated problems. And she can learn from Henry to be on guard (rather than have him learn from her to be calm).
I understand the concerns and I admit that it carries some risk. Nonetheless, a better part of me is convinced that this will help my boy. I am selecting a rescue very very carefully. She must have a verified (through foster care) calmness and friendliness about her. She needs to be older than Henry -- past the feisty and challenging teen years (meaning past 2 in people years). And she can't be black because I like diversity and it's hard enough to photograph these two black dogs (Henry and Goose) anyway.
Henry just loves to play with dogs. Whatever reserve he has had with strangers, he has no shyness with pooches. He has impeccable manners with them and most importantly, they help relax him. At the training, where there are both dogs and strangers, he has no desire to bark and pull. At his Camp right now, I'm getting reports of continued shyness toward people, but complete abandon and joy when he is with his canine friends. I am convinced he will love his new sib.
I do have one in mind, again from Texas, coming up here in mid February. A day after my move! Things will be interesting then! (I have still to do a long interview with the caretakers of this new one, so there is a chance that my twenty questions about her wont yield a great result, but I think I'm solid here.)
Frankly, the biggest puzzler that I have is how to walk two dogs, given my age and given their size (the second one, while smaller than Henry, is still considered medium which, in dog parlance appears to mean nearly 50 pounds, so no petite fille there. But, the new house is close to the dog park and I think we'll spend a lot of time exercising there.
So here I am in France, writing and thinking about dogs and moves and the details of each of those huge categories! Enough of that! Let's get back to my travels
I booked a train to Antibes for just before noon. Antibes is one of those posh Riviera communities and it is a preferable point of departure for my final destination, St Paul de Vance. Nice (the city where I was to fly to) is too big, too full of traffic. My Villa people said get off at Antibes, just before Nice.
Okay, but how is it looking out there in Marseille? Not bad, albeit the big rains are coming, spreading the length of the Mediterranean coast.
After breakfast, I do go out for a short stroll, even though my heart isn't in it.
(so many sailboats along the coast here!)
Marseille doesn't lend itself to that kind of inspection. It requires a lot of walking and the distances aren't short and the stuff you pass can get on the gritty side of things. The one thing it did for me today is bring back the past. Thoughts of how much has changed since I was here last in 2015. (It rained then as well, by the way.)
And then I got on my train for Antibes.
And finally, from there, I Uber over to the Villa St Maxime.
(my once encounter with the sea, from the car window: oh, that azure color!)
That was one long trip from Madison!
(the Villa)
(view from the garden: the Mediterranean coast has beautiful mimosa bushes in full yellow bloom, from January until March)
I do walk over immediately to the Fondation Maeght. This is where you'll find one of the largest collections of 20th century Modern Art in Europe. Bonnard, Chagall, Giacometti, Kadinsky, Leger, Miro -- they're all here, in abundance. (MIro -- in great abundance, sculptures and paintings.) Here's a link if you want more information. As usual, all you get from me are a couple of favorites.
The museum was almost empty of course. I'm surprised they keep it open every single day in the winter. A few French people were studying a few pieces very carefully, otherwise it was just me.
Yes, there is a fabulous, enormous sculpture garden.
What can I say -- there's a lot of wealth in this collection.
I should note that I a little bit enjoyed the moody weather. The drizzle. The dark forest with greens on branches, year round.
A dog came to greet me. I think he belonged to the caretaker, but I don't really know. I thought about how a couple of years ago France introduced a mandatory subject into its school curriculum: kindness and respect for pets. France may love its coddled dogs, but they too have an "abandoned dogs" problem. The Guardian reports that there were 100 000 dogs dumped and left to fend for themselves in 2023. Perhaps the curriculum is a response to that? In the U.S. the problem is even larger though. In Texas alone, 560 000 dogs and cats entered shelters last year. There are few animal welfare laws and of course the climate allows them to survive. Too, there is the culture of "do what I want." That spills over to control over animals.
From there, I walk to the center of the medieval St Paul de Vance.
My little hotel (or is it a bed and breakfast maybe? I'm the only guest today..), lovely as it is, has the flaw that it is just outside of town. Normally I would enjoy the hilly walk, but for about 500 meters, there is no sidewalk and the road is very narrow and it curves. Cars come at you and stepping to the side is nearly impossible. There is no side. A fatal flaw that I hope is not really a fatal flaw! If I published this, then I survived the second walk into town for dinner. But I am now glad I came today and not yesterday. It would not have been fun doing it after that long trip, in the rain, dead tired.
Too, I have mixed views of St Paul de Vance. The little hamlet has 50 art galleries, all with big pieces of high quality art.
For me, they sort of destroy the character of the town. Medieval villages did not have high brow stuff for sale. They were dirty dark and dismal. Of course, that wouldn't draw anyone today and these hilltop villages survive on tourism, but having these extremely expensive shops throughout is a little odd, I think.
I did stop at the perfume store -- the Fragonard Boutique. Out of sentiment for the brand. I'd been to Grasse where their perfumes are made and I do love the scents here, in Provence. And I bought something! A diffuser for my new home! I have never used a diffuser and my daughter tells me you can't smell a thing with them, but that's good, because Ed claims he has issues with scents anyway. (I dont believe him, but I wont push this and when he comes for a visit, I'll hide the bottle.)
Dinner? Back to town...
... At Le Moulin de Saint Paul. It calls itself a bistro (though in my view it does not look like a bistro!)...
... and it comes recommended by my Villa. It has a talented chef and I was happy as anything with my smoked trout on a veggie blini...
... my scallops, and my dessert of lavender creme brulee. There, I had a very Provencal meal. And yes, there's that glass of wine. They hand you a list of wines and beverages and I scan the pages, looking for zero alcohol choices and there are non. At least here they pour a reasonable amount. Delta Airlines fills their tumbler-sized glasses to the top.
Evening. I'm still signing documents and working out the details of the next month. But I also do feel (finally!) that I am away, in France. And it does feel good to be here again.
Tomorrow, I go up north, to Paris.
with so much love...
